


After Everyone Has Left

by dandw0115



Category: The Umbrella Academy (Comics), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: this is gonna be really sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:26:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandw0115/pseuds/dandw0115
Summary: The hollowing of The Umbrella Academy has casualties.
Kudos: 12





	After Everyone Has Left

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Suicide

The air was muggy when Ben stepped outside that morning. It was midsummer and the heat was rising off the pavement and the sun was comfortingly warm as it peaked through the clouds. The courtyard was ugly if Ben was being honest. The grass had gone brown in a few places, there were no flowers or bees. Vines twisted unnervingly around the walls, wrapping around the bricks and windows. He could make out the sound of the city beyond the walls of the house, the whirring of cars, the occasional shouts of people, car horns. It masked any sound of birds or the calming sound of the wind blowing over the top of the buildings. There was, though, a tree. It wasn’t ugly, or horrible. It had nice little leaves on its thin twigs, and it would sometimes have delicate yellow flowers bloom here and there. Despite its abnormal beauty in the dreary home, what made the tree so displeasing was who was usually under it. 

On days when he and Luther didn’t have to go on a mission per their father’s behest, Reginald would sit outside under that tree. A book usually grasped in one hand, one of his notebooks next to him, Pogo sitting adjacent to him on a stone bench. If it were to happen that Ben or Luther wandered outside, they would be met with a disgruntled demand to leave him in peace. After a while, Ben learned to avoid the courtyard. 

It was on that muggy morning when Reginald had left for a self-described ‘important matter’ overseas, that Ben sat down on the stone bench in the courtyard. _It wasn’t enjoyable_. He thought it might have been, having watched Dad spend most of his free time within it. Ben was frustrated, mostly, but he did note the feeling of utter disappointment weighing on his chest. There truly was no nice part of the house. Though for reasons he was unsure of, he stayed in the courtyard, his eyes fixated on the sky, his breathing uneven. The sun eventually began to peek over the walls of the yard, and when it did, Mother opened up the door and beckoned her son inside. When he looked at her, he saw that she looked the way she always had. Blonde hair in a neat ribbon, her dress ironed and a bright hue, and a smile that creased her cheeks nicely. The young man was unsure of his mother. She was a robot, and they do not have emotions—no mother's love. But when he cried at night, and couldn’t calm his heart, he would creep down the halls, diligent not to disturb father, and wake her. Her eyes came back to life, and after brief confusion, she would look to him. 

“Ben, darling?” She would say lightly. He would hold a finger to his lips as if to say, ‘ _Keep quiet._ ’

“I had a bad dream.” He would say, voice exhausted. Grace nodded, leaning forward to place a kiss on his forehead. 

“Remember to take deep breaths,” Mother said, “How about a late-night snack, and then back to bed?” 

This always worked, too. After the snack, Mother would tuck him back in, and sleep was inevitable. For years Ben did this. Even years after the worst of the experiments, the poking, and prodding, and after the public decided that The Umbrella Academy was no longer worth their attention. The stress and anxiety continued to gnaw at his mind and stomach, a constant reminder of his curse. 

Ben shook his head and turned his attention to Mother as she called him inside, telling him something about breakfast. _He wasn’t hungry._ He was well aware that going hungry would only make him feel worse than when he woke up, but he couldn’t work up the appetite to eat eggs, or pancakes, or whatever else Grace had been programmed to cook. He eventually wandered indoors, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He found the smell of eggs nauseating almost immediately. He felt unkind almost, as he walked away from Mother who had begun the work of cleaning up breakfast. Ben followed down the halls, his footing subconsciously following the path most inconspicuous. He came to the living room eventually, expecting to be left to his own devices with the many shelves of books he had already read. Ben, however, wasn’t entirely surprised to find Space Boy. It wasn’t Luther. It was Number One, suited up, a mask covering his brow and cheekbones. _It was supposed to be a day off._ It was typical of Father to always rely on Number One, no matter the day or circumstances. Ben thought of saying nothing for a moment but decided against it.

“Can’t crime go a day without one of us having to stop it?” Ben asked. This probably wasn’t the most sensible question, he knew, but to him it made sense. A whole life dedicated to stopping criminals in their tracks, never a break, and not even a Father who cared enough to ask what _they_ wanted. Number One tilted his head, not entirely sure how to answer the strange question. Ben wasn’t sure what to say to follow up.

“Well,” Space Boy said, “I think it’s better if it didn’t.” 

For the second time that day, Ben was disappointed. No matter the years that passed, and the torture they went through as children, Luther was loyal. It would be admirable if it wasn’t from a place of denial. _He couldn’t be that clueless._ Ben could never bring himself to look Luther in the eyes and tell him the truth.

_Dad doesn’t love us._

It was what Diego had said since they were eight. _Poor Number Two_. Ben had long since thought that two was a terrible number, and to have it assigned to him would be a legacy that burned. Diego lived his life in fear of his number, and no matter how much he denied it, Ben knew his brother’s true feelings. Number Two had been terrible at hiding his emotions since he was a child, he simply learned not to talk about them. Ben would take a chance and pry occasionally, urging Diego to talk about _anything_ , but was continuously met with a verbal lash that lasted a week. Ben eventually stopped trying. 

Ben looked at Space Boy as he got ready to leave, and he couldn’t stop the thoughts that came to him: _What if he doesn’t come home one day? What would we do without Luther?_ He tried desperately to stop the thoughts, but they never relented. Ben sucked in a deep breath and waved Number One off as he departed once again. Ben pulled his hood up, hiding his face from no one in particular. His steps echoed off the walls of the empty house as he ascended the stairs, past his sibling’s rooms, most of which were empty until he came to his room. Grey, dim, and unwelcoming. The room was almost always cold, and Ben had learned a long time that while he and the others were asleep Reginald sometimes watched them. _Pretending to be asleep during insomnia haunted nights turned more frightening._ The one place of solitude invaded. Ben locked himself in the bathroom when he wanted to be truly alone, and completely undisturbed. 

Ben fell onto the bed, letting his muscles relax as much as they could. He thought back to the nights when he could hear his siblings awake at night. Luther and Allison whispering to each other in the hall, Klaus trying anything in his power to will the ghosts away, Vanya flipping through sheets of music she was trying to learn. No one slept when they were supposed to, and he could see it in their eyes the next morning. Laying on his bed, older and no longer accompanied by his siblings, Ben thought of loneliness. The state of it—being truly, and utterly lonely. _Sure,_ Luther was still there, but the leader was obsessed with being a superhero, all in the name of pleasing Father. Not because he wanted to help people, but because Reginald demanded it, and warped Luther’s freewill into nothing. Klaus, Diego, Vanya— everyone was gone, forming their own life, and even if it was terrible, it was away from Father and the house. Ben couldn’t understand why he stayed, but every time he began to pack a bag, ready to call one of his brothers or sisters, he stopped. 

“I can’t leave,” Ben said, the sound echoing off the walls of the room. When he said it out loud, it didn’t sound quite right. _He was nineteen, he could leave!_ Reginald made it clear that he wouldn’t be stopped if Ben left one day. Maybe it was the familiarity of the home or the way Luther looked at him when he made for the door. Maybe it was what could happen if he left, to end up like Klaus wouldn’t be much of a life or Diego who still fought crime on a nightly basis. Though, Allison ended up alright, and so did Vanya, in their own ways. _Five left and never came back._ He toyed with the thought, his fingers thrumming against the hard mattress, but as per usual, never came to a conclusion. 

It was all so suffocating. Staying home wasn’t good—the same old thing since he was just a child, seemingly never coming to an end. Leaving was just as bad, a whole world who knew his struggle and gawked at it. The monster in his chest sat heavily on his heart and throat, in every way it could. He wanted to rip it out. Forget everything about his life, about his childhood, and killing criminals when he was barely ten. He wanted to be rid of everything that reminded him of his horrible father. He felt guilty for wanting to leave his siblings, but they left him first. Ben felt lost again. He almost always did, but there was the occasional reprieve, where he could breathe easier, and not worry all the time. He hadn't felt that relief in a long time, it seemed. It was as if the whole weight of the home slammed into him, and he was forced to accept that he would never live a normal life, not with the power that made it's home inside him.

Ben pushed himself up from the bed, a hand raking down his face roughly. He wandered down the halls again, peering into the empty rooms that lined it. Allison’s, pink and covered in photos of herself, Diego’s which Mother had fixed up when he stormed out one day and never came back, and Klaus’s room, his thoughts written on the walls, but still neat from Mother's work. Ben stepped into the latter's room. He scanned the walls, taking in the obsessive thoughts, the messy handwriting, and occasional crude illustration etched into the wood. The room had long since gone cold, and the jarring lack of occupation made Ben tense. The home had never been an overtly welcoming or comforting place, but it had been the presence of people with similar experiences that had made it bearable growing up. Something about Luther's blind loyalty, Diego's anger, Allison's conceitedness, even Klaus's irresponsibility was strangely comforting, and while it was easy for Ben to look down on them for such behaviors, he was familiar with the same emotions. With the house standing empty, Ben longed for the annoying traits of his siblings, their pessimistic attitudes, and occasional biting words. Even with everything he hated about his brothers and sisters, Ben came to the conclusion that he hated their absence from his life more. 

He missed Klaus the most. He was the only sibling that understood the demented way of thinking, and the torture of a superhuman power that was inescapable and constantly screaming for some sort of release or attention. It was late at night when neither of them could sleep that they shared the most horrific aspects of their powers with each other, information they withheld from the others. Ben would tell of the pain in his torso, the constant pulling, jabbing, jerking feelings of the monster that resided within his body. The fear of letting it out at the wrong time. Klaus would describe the tortured souls he had grown familiar with, the absurdity of some deaths, and the gore of others. He would talk a little louder when he heard the drones of a dead soul, pleading for his attention. Number Four, conversely, was also the most entertaining of the siblings, his own welcomed distraction of sheer ridiculousness. Mismatching heels that clashed oddly with the color of eyeliner smeared poorly around his green eyes. The theatrical show he put on in Ben's room, voice strained to sound something like their father as he mocked the man who tortured them. After his departure, Klaus never called unless he needed to come home for something material, and always crashed through the main entrance intoxicated. Klaus consistently seemed malnourished, high on a substance Ben didn't even know existed, and occasionally in toe with a person just as disheveled looking. Number Six learned to avoid interacting with Klaus on occasions such as that.

Ben opened up a drawer in Klaus' room—crumpled up paper and a broken set of headphones. Ben moved on to the next, and then the next until he reached the last drawer. Yanking it open on its creaky hinges, he listened to the clatter of bottles and pills. _Finally._ Red ones, blue ones, white, green. He wasn’t sure what any of them were. What any of them did, exactly. He picked the white ones, the ones that had always gotten Klaus the highest, fastest. _Those would work._

He didn’t hear his footsteps when he made his way back to his room. He didn’t hear the door to the bathroom open, even though it always squeaked loudly when opened, and he didn’t notice it close behind him either. The memory of hiding away in the bathroom entered intrusively into his thoughts— nights of keeping himself awake to avoid the unwanted eyes of his father, or in fear of the nightmares that would plague his sleep. Ben looked at himself in the mirror—dark circles under his eyes, hair knotted, and holes in his favorite sweatshirt. He looked away. The bottle was awkward to hold and hard to open, twisting and twisting until it finally came loose. Ben wasn’t sure if it was the easy way out or not, but he didn’t particularly care anymore. His thoughts continued to race as he emptied the bottle; _Luther will be disappointed. Pogo will_ be _the one to find me. At least I don't have to see Dad again. I should've called Diego. Or Klaus. Maybe even Allison—no she's too busy lately. Those pills tasted horrible, how does Klaus do it? I should lay down. I guess the cold is comforting._


End file.
